


The infinite a sudden Guest

by middlemarch



Category: Mercy Street (TV)
Genre: American Civil War, Belief, F/M, Gen, Santa Claus - Freeform, argument, doctors & nurses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-14
Updated: 2016-12-14
Packaged: 2018-09-08 13:31:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8846932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/middlemarch/pseuds/middlemarch
Summary: She'd tried to acquiesce to his many restrictions but she simply wouldn't this time.





	

“Oh, let them hope!” Mary exclaimed and Emma nodded vigorously in support, her dark curls trembling with it. Matron stood with her arms crossed and her eyes narrowed and Nurse Hastings looked torn. She could hardly bear to agree with Mary but she could not stand to be told how to nurse the men and Captain McBurney’s cold yet mercurial insistence on following his own foibles about treatment as if they were direct from Hippocrates had sat ill with her since his arrival. As well, he gave Byron no attention at all and listened only to that horrid Foster. 

“What harm can it do?” Mary added, her tone softer, but stil firm, even in the face of clear opposition from every physician in the hospital, even Jed Foster, who had rolled his eyes when she had first introduced the topic and had hardly relented in his sarcasm since.

“A great deal, madam, a great deal. To tell lies instead of truth, to foist upon these men a childish phantasy when they need a heartier sustenance—the wholesome morality and patriotism of the Union, to be treated as stalwart men and not snivelling children! You forget yourself and your place!” McBurney retorted. He had seemed a better leader than Summers upon his arrival but that impression had lasted as long as a bubble’s perfection, the integrity of a dandelion’s silvery fluff. Now, whether Union or Rebel, man, woman or child, heathen or saint, they all wished the return of Dr. Summers’s benign neglect and that Captain McBurney could be sent elsewhere… the West, the far North, on an expedition to Bolivia. He looked the part, straight and burnished in his uniform, his mustache always trimmed and elegantly curled, but he wrought nothing but havoc on the wards and it had taken all of Mary’s patience to manage him. Now it seemed even she was being broken on the shoals of his rigid and unforgiving nature. There had been a collectively swallowed gasp at his condemnation of Mary, even Anne bristling at the deprecation on a fellow nurse.

“No, Captain McBurney, I forget nothing. Not my position, nor my power, not my charge nor my duty. I do not forget what came before this War and what must come after. And I do not forget that each of these men has been a boy, with a boy’s heart and soul, and that I must tend as you stitch their wounds, fish shrapnel from their bellies, cut them to bits to save them. When you are done, who is left to care for them, what you have left behind? The nuns and the nurses and Chaplain Hopkins. I will not thank you to remember how you found this place and I’ll not expect you to consider how these men will fare when they leave. You have made yourself clear. And now I will tell you, I will tell every boy who asks that Saint Nicholas is indeed due to arrive in three days’ time, Rebel or Union, and I will make sure each one receives something. I understand how little it takes for a man to lose his faith—or gain it back. I will ask Chaplain to read ‘The Night Before Christmas’ and I hope they will all fall asleep listening for reindeer,” Mary said. There was a pause and then Henry Hopkins began to clap, followed by Jed Foster, who shrugged at McBurney as he did so. Emma Green reached an arm around Mary and stood on tip-toe to kiss her on her flushed cheek.

Matron was made of sterner stuff; she sniffed and blew her nose in a great, dingy handkerchief the laundresses could not bleach white and said, “Aye, Captain, ye can’t say the old elf ain’t making an appearance anyway, so ye had best stop wasting all our precious time arguing about it. Though, after this, I wouldn’t expect naught but coal in me stocking, if I were ye.” Byron let out a great guffaw then and Anne gave him a brief nod when she saw the terrified look in his eyes, that yes, he’d had the right of it. She herself said nothing, her silence its own judgment.

“Insubordination! Such disrespect! I should write you all up!” McBurney shouted. Mary smiled, sweetly and thin, a victor’s smile, and said nothing. 

“I can’t think who’d like to receive your letters less, our Mr. Lincoln or dear old Saint Nick. I shouldn’t waste the ink,” Jed remarked. As McBurney had spent the past few days discussing such economies, he’d found himself well and truly trapped. There was nothing to it but to declare, “You are all dismissed!” and bolt for his office. 

“See, now, Nurse Mary. You have gotten your way and no harm done,” Jed said, grinning at her. His pocketbook was not as fat as it once had been, but he’d make sure Samuel Diggs and Mary’s unofficial aide-de-camp Isaac were given some coins to buy horehound and peppermint humbugs for the men. It wouldn’t do to have Mary sleepless over handkerchiefs and housewifes there were no needles for and he knew she wouldn’t rely on the North Pole to fill every stocking in the place. 

“It’s not my way, it’s the spirit of the season and you’d do well to remember it. Unless you are looking for a lump of coal yourself,” Mary said smartly.

“No, I’ve greater hopes than those, old St. Nick is quite aware,” he said and winked. Emma clapped a hand over her mouth at his bold presumption and Matron laughed aloud.

“Since you expect him, I can’t see why you wouldn’t support my argument against McBurney before this…debacle,” Mary exclaimed.

“There’s a great difference between making a public declaration and the secret wish of a man’s heart, Nurse Mary. Surely, you can appreciate that,” he replied neatly and let her see what she would, uncertainty behind his glib tone, how shy a proud man might be able a tender desire. “And I would have called this a contretemps, personally.”

“Go tend yer patient, ye scoundrel. We all know ye weren’t the first to speak out against McBurney’s nonsense and even if we know the why of it, ye had best be working on making amends,” Matron called.

“As ever, gracious lady, I am your humble servant,” Jed replied, making an elaborate bow and strode from the room, almost near enough Mary to touch her. Almost.

“Ha! Imagine that! My servant. Humble! If it t’were true, think how well this place’d run. We’d hardly need ye, nor Nan, Nurse Mary,” Matron said. “P’raps he’s needing the coal along with whatever his heart’s desire is.”

“It’s all up to St. Nicholas, Matron. We shall have to see,” Mary said calmly. Emma glanced at the chaplain and saw his smile, his approval. As long as Nurse Mary was in charge, hope would equal mercy in this place, and come Christmas morning, there would be rewards for all, even those who hadn’t believed, and the coal would be thrown on the fire to warm them during the Christmas service and the carols that followed.

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt was Santa Claus. All the Season 2 spoilers suggest Captain McBurney is going to be tough to deal with, so I channeled that here. This story isn't frankly romantic, but I tried to give intimations of Phoster and a little Emmry.
> 
> The title is from Emily Dickinson.


End file.
